Ballads in the Cumberland dialect by R. Anderson, with notes and a glossary, and a biographical sketch of the author |
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BETTY BROWN. |
 | Ballads in the Cumberland dialect |  |
BETTY BROWN.
WULLY.
Come, Gwordie lad, unyoke the yad,
Let's gow to Rosley Fair;
Lang Ned's aswore, wi' Symie' lad,
Peed Dick, and monie mair:
My titty Greace and Jenny Bell
Are gangen bye and bye,
Sae doff thy clogs, and don thysel—
Let fadder luik to t'kye.
Let's gow to Rosley Fair;
Lang Ned's aswore, wi' Symie' lad,
Peed Dick, and monie mair:
My titty Greace and Jenny Bell
Are gangen bye and bye,
Sae doff thy clogs, and don thysel—
Let fadder luik to t'kye.
GWORDIE.
O, Wully! leetsome may ye be!
For me, I downa gang;
I've often shek'd a leg wi' tee,
But now l's aw wheyte wrang;
My stomich's geane, nae sleep I get;
At neet I lig me down,
But nobbet pech, and gowl, and fret,
And aw for Betty Brown.
For me, I downa gang;
I've often shek'd a leg wi' tee,
But now l's aw wheyte wrang;
My stomich's geane, nae sleep I get;
At neet I lig me down,
But nobbet pech, and gowl, and fret,
And aw for Betty Brown.
2
Sin' Cuddy Wulson' murry-neet,
When Deavie brees'd his shin
I've niver, niver yence been reet,
And aw for her, I fin:
Tou kens we danc'd a threesome reel,
And Betty set to me—
She luik'd sae neyce, and danc'd sae weel,
What cud a body de?
When Deavie brees'd his shin
I've niver, niver yence been reet,
And aw for her, I fin:
Tou kens we danc'd a threesome reel,
And Betty set to me—
She luik'd sae neyce, and danc'd sae weel,
What cud a body de?
My fadder fratches sair eneugh,
If I but steal frae heame;
My mudder caws me peer deyl'd guff,
If Betty I but neame:
Atween the twee there's see a frase,
O but it's bad to beyde!
Yet, what's far war, aye Betty says,
She wunnet be my breyde.
If I but steal frae heame;
My mudder caws me peer deyl'd guff,
If Betty I but neame:
Atween the twee there's see a frase,
O but it's bad to beyde!
Yet, what's far war, aye Betty says,
She wunnet be my breyde.
WULLY.
Wey, Gworge! tou's owther fuil or sont,
To think o' see a frow;
In aw her flegmagaries donn'd,
What is she?—nought 'at dow:
Theer's sceape-greace Ben, the neybors ken,
Can git her onie day—
Er I'd be fash'd wi' sec a yen,
I'd list, or rin away!
To think o' see a frow;
In aw her flegmagaries donn'd,
What is she?—nought 'at dow:
Theer's sceape-greace Ben, the neybors ken,
Can git her onie day—
Er I'd be fash'd wi' sec a yen,
I'd list, or rin away!
Wi' aw her trinkum's on her back,
She's feyne eneugh for t'squire;
A sairy weyse I trow, she'd mak,
'At cuddn't muck a byre.—
But, whisht! here comes my titty Greace,
She'll guess what we're about—
To mworn-o'mworn, i' this seame pleace,
We'll hae the stwory out.
She's feyne eneugh for t'squire;
A sairy weyse I trow, she'd mak,
'At cuddn't muck a byre.—
3
She'll guess what we're about—
To mworn-o'mworn, i' this seame pleace,
We'll hae the stwory out.
December 19, 1801.
| Ballads in the Cumberland dialect | |